


Lightning Strikes

by thebatsammi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Inspired by The Hunger Games, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:07:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27340969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebatsammi/pseuds/thebatsammi
Summary: It has been 25 years since Voldemort's defeat of the Order of the Phoenix, and the fall of the Boy Who Lived. On the anniversary, he announces that blood must be paid to pave the way to forgiveness for the rebels. The children of the Order shall compete in a battle royale to the death with no aids of magic until one stands victorious. To win means to gain clemency and a place in the new world, to lose means death. Dominique Weasley knows that neither is an option..... but what choice does she have?
Kudos: 1





	1. prologue.

#### 25 years prior.... somewhere in Harry Potter's head

“I’ve got to go back, haven’t I?”

“That is up to you.”

“I’ve got a choice?”

“Oh yes.” Dumbledore smiled at him. “We are in King’s Cross, you say? I think that if you decided to go back, you would be able to…. let’s say…. board a train.”

“And where would it take me?”

“On,” said Dumbledore simply.

Silence again.

Harry stood staring at the platform, the promise of a train that could roll in at any moment and take him away. He would be walking away from his friends, from his family, but had he not done the hard part? Voldemort was deprived of his horcuxes now, and was able to be defeated. The weight on his shoulders felt so heavy and he took in a sharp breath.

As if this place knew his decision, an engine sounded from a ways off and Dumbledore looked up, surprised. Harry thought he saw a trace of disappointment in those brilliant blue eyes, but he wasn’t sure. Dumbledore stood up and offered Harry a smile as the train rolled into the station.

“It is time for us to go then,” he said, watching Harry closely.

Harry stood up and looked hard at the train in front of him before nodding and standing a little taller. He was tired. He had been running all of his life and here was the finish line. He trusted his friends to finish the story. They were strong. They needed him, but not to do this. It would be simple. He had done the hard part, after all.

It was time to rest.


	2. the beginning

“Gran? Gran, are you in the kitchen?” Dominique Weasley pushed her way into the Burrow and shut the door behind her, taking in all the familiar scents of her grandparents’ home. It was constantly cluttered, but smelled clean and full of cooking spices. A sweater was being knit in the corner by floating needles, and from the look of the color, she assumed it was going to be for Lucy or Victoire. Her gran did love her color coding for her various grandchildren. But, as it was, she noticed the absence of said grandmother. It wasn’t like Molly Weasley to keep her waiting for their lunch tea.

They met every week on Thursday afternoons to read the Prophet and talk about the lives of Dominique and her litter of cousins and siblings. And, in her experience, Molly had never left her waiting this long. Curious, Dominique peered around the corner into the sitting room wondering if something had happened. It was eerily quiet ---- until she heard a massive thud from the garden out back, and then the back door opening and the mutterings of a woman she had known and loved since she held her first memory.

“Dominique! What are you doing skulking ‘round corners?” Molly’s familiar chiding tones pulled a smile on the young woman’s face as she turned around to meet the aged face of the family’s matriarch. 

Molly was a short woman, but by no means was she diminutive. Her voice carried and more than once Dominique was on the receiving end of her chiding and rebuke, and it was not a place she liked to be. However, she gave the warmest hugs and even if she hated that all of her sweaters were green, they were warm and smelled of this house. It made her homesick when she was with her parents in France. As it was, she was pulled into a deep hug and she almost didn’t want to pull away. This was her reset of the week. This was where she found her center and moved forward from here. They weren’t granted much, but they had this. This tiny little thing. Just a grandmother having tea with her granddaughter. 

As she pulled away there was a tug at her blouse and she glanced down to realize that her badge had gotten tangled in the threads of Molly’s sweater. “Oh hell,” she muttered, quickly moving to pull it out of the tangled strings, trying to ignore the pained and irate look on her grandmother’s face. She knew how she felt about the badges, but they were the law. Being caught without your badge only five times led to it being branded on the palm of your hand. She had a mate in her first job have it branded, and she was out of work for two weeks nearly. It wasn’t a fate that Domi wanted to wish upon herself.

“I wish you wouldn’t wear that in here,” Molly huffed and stalked away to start their tea.

“Sorry, Gran. It’s… It’s just a habit, you know? The alternative is worse,” she apologized and resisted the urge to hang her head. 

“I know!” The older woman snapped. 

Dominique froze and then let the tension roll out of her shoulders. She knew better than to broach this subject. She knew what her grandmother, her family, had lost before her birth. She knew what the whole world lost the day that Minister Voldemort killed Harry Potter. She had heard the story so many times from various uncles. He had given himself up to save the rest of them, and they were overpowered and forced to surrender. The age of democracy and reason had ended, and the Dark Reign of the Dark Lord began.

Blue eyes trailed down to the badge in her hand. It was made of a lightweight silver metal, shaped in the form of an upside down rounded triangle. It was divided in three spaces with rounded lines that intertwined. The bottom section was completely black, and the two above it were white. Mixed breed, it meant. Her blood was tainted with that of subpar creatures. In her specific case, it meant veela from her mother’s side. In the case of her sister’s significant other, it was werewolf. There was a small chain that held one singular black bead, and that was the most damning of all. It was a sign of rebellion, that her family were marked. They were members of the Order that stood against the one true Dark Lord, and as such, were labeled blood traitors. 

Even if she wasn’t born until two years after he took over the Ministry of Magic. She was not to be trusted, not to be allowed at Hogwarts, nor allowed any sort of social standing. Her birth was a mistake, and she was a pariah. All because someone was brave enough to stand up. How Dominique wished she was that strong.

Sliding the badge into her pocket, she took a breath and took over prepping their afternoon tea. She always felt better when her hands were busy, anyway. Molly protested but Dominique didn’t allow her to cut in. She took over and shooed her grandmother away to sit with platitudes. She could never sit still, even as a child. Her mother berated it for her, but her father laughed. It was a family trait, he said. Neither he nor his brothers could ever sit quiet or still. She was proud of that little fact. Something that made her feel proud of the traitorous blood running through her veins. The blood of rebels, of people eager to stand up, to stand against. 

“I am sorry, Dominique,” Molly spoke, breaking the silence at last as the younger woman sat down with the tray of tea. “But you don’t--”

“I don’t understand. Gran, it’s fine. I know the rules and I forgot.” She paused, stirring her tea idly. “Have you heard from Lucy? I heard she was dating Adam Wood?”

Her questions were acknowledged with a sharp stare, but she allowed the change of subject. And soon they were talking nonsense about the cousins’ love lives, when Victoire and Teddy thought they might actually get married, and how were her parents anyway and did she think her father would actually start writing to her with any frequency. The answer was no, of course. Bill Weasley was anything but habitual. 

The fluttering of an owl interrupted their small talk, however, and Domi held out a knowing hand as it dropped the day’s Daily Prophet into her palm. The news. It was mostly lies, and almost all of it propaganda, but it was something at least. A ritual, perhaps. Tea, gossip, and the Prophet. So, with a dramatic flourish, Domi brandished the paper and…

And…

“...Gran?” Her voice faltered a little, bright eyes that she inherited from her mother wide and questioning. 

She laid the paper down flat and she could feel her heart hammering in her chest. The text was bold and big and alarming. TWENTY FIVE YEARS OF OUTSTANDING SERVICE, WE CELEBRATE OUR MINISTER. But underneath that, was an announcement from the Minister himself.

>   
>  **THE BLOOD GAMES** : Clear your tainted history at last and show your remorse for past crimes. The Blood Games are a mandatory event that will stir emotion and bring glory to your family names! Blood Traitors between the ages of 18 and 25 are required to enter, failure to appear at the summonings shall inherit dire consequences. We cannot wait to unveil the rules and to see you all there!

What made her heart hammer in her chest was that there was a list. A list of names. A list of names with a cheery note of expect your summons soon! It was her name. And right under it, Fred Weasley II.

The noise that her grandmother made when she read it was something Dominique had neither the heart nor the words to convey the pain and anger contained within. Nor would she want to. Or ever hear it again. 

She was being summoned to play in a blood sport for… honor? Something was rotten in the state of Denmark, and she wasn’t sure what it was, but she knew she wanted answers. Or to run away. Her entire family was on that list, running wasn’t an option. No matter if there were places that would keep her safe, grant her sanctuary. The United States, France, Canada. THey all offered Sanctuary to those fleeing the regime. He had broken the Statute of Secrecy and the world had adapted. Some better than others and yet… the UK was stuck in this dystopian nightmare of blood based castes. So, what then? 

What the hell was she going to do?

“Fucking. Hell.”


End file.
